“I don’t want Frau Geruscha to come back and find me gone.”
“Frau Geruscha. I’ll be happy when you are no longer under her thumb. She doesn’t have your best interests at heart, Rose. You’re beginning to realize that, aren’t you?”
Rose found herself staring at his chest. “I truly wish you two could be friends, for my sake.”
Lord Rupert sighed. “For you, Rose, I can be friends with anyone.”
“Thank you.” Rose smiled up at him, relishing the way he looked at her. Impulsively, she wrapped her arms around him again in a tight hug. “Farewell.” She pulled away and started off quickly toward the castle before he could protest.
“Let me walk with you,” he called.
“No. I don’t want anyone to see us returning together.”
He sent her a pouty glower, but Rose simply waved, running up the hill ahead of him.
“Oh, Rose, marriage is wonderful.” Hildy’s face was the picture of bliss as she raised her arms over her head, smiling up at the sky.
“It certainly looks good on you.” A week had passed since Gunther’s expected execution day—which had become their wedding day instead. Rose strolled along between Hildy and Wolfie as they walked to Rose’s parents’ grand new house. It would be Rose’s first visit there.
Hildy proceeded to tell her of the joys to expect when she was married.
“Hildy, I’m not sure you should be telling me this.”
“Of course I should! You’ll want me to tell you all this and more when Lord Rupert asks you to marry him—which shall be any day now.” Hildy smirked. “Then we’ll both be married. Oh, Rose, isn’t it wonderful?”
“I hope so.” The truth was, she did expect him to ask her and thought it would be soon. She was too embarrassed to admit it to Hildy, but she looked forward to being able to enjoy Lord Rupert’s caresses and kisses. What she did not look forward to was his mother’s disapproval. The duchess was certain to be disappointed in her younger son’s choice. She might even try to prevent their marriage.
They reached the clearing in front of her family’s front door and stopped. Hildy faced her. “I predict you shall shortly join the ranks of us old married people.” She gave her a quick hug and hurried away.
Rose pushed the door open and Wolfie poked his nose in. Rose could hear her mother’s hushed voice. Standing in the doorway, Rose blinked until her eyes became accustomed to the dimness of the room. Then she saw her mother in the far corner with her father. Rose heard her name and held her breath, listening.
“She doesn’t intend to marry,” her mother said in a harsh whisper. “She’s said that often enough. Now she’s dallying with Lord Rupert and you know what people are saying about her and about us. She has no respect for us, the people who took her in and raised her. It makes me want to shake her by the neck to think that she’s not even our own child, but after all we’ve done for her she refuses to do as we ask.”
Rose concentrated on the words. Surely she had heard incorrectly. Not their child? She listened as her father’s voice answered.
“Don’t speak so. Rose has a right to choose her own husband. It’s the law of the Church. Without her consent, the marriage can be annulled.”
“Don’t you think I know that? She could and should consent, but if I know her stubbornness and pride, she won’t, just as she refused Peter Brunckhorst.”
“For which we should be grateful, as it turns out.”
“We don’t know how it turned out. He disappeared. Perhaps if she had accepted him—”
Rose couldn’t listen to any more. She turned around, not caring if her parents—if such they were—heard her, went out the door, and began to run. Her stomach burned as if she’d swallowed a lit torch. Her vision misted over as she struggled to take in the revelation.
Apparently her mother had found another marriage prospect for her and was angry at the thought that Rose would probably not accept him. Well, she was right about that. But now Rose understood her mother’s long-time resentment of her. Her mother had not given her birth, had not even wanted her.
Wolfie galloped by her side as she ran toward the castle. When she arrived, she found Frau Geruscha refilling some flasks with herbs. Rose crossed her arms, standing in the doorway of the storage room. Her breath came hard and fast and her heart pounded uncomfortably against her chest.
“Did you know that I am not Thomas Roemer’s daughter?”
The leather flask slipped from Frau Geruscha’s fingers and fell to the floor, spilling the dried leaves in a wide arc around her feet. Slowly she turned. Her face looked as if it were made of stone.